


Return to Form

by LeighLa (WarieLym)



Category: Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, F/F, M/M, Post-Resident Evil: Vendetta, Recovery, Slow Burn, and now we're here, because ive watched the movie like three times in three days, i watched vendetta and got horny for Old Sad Leon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-25 04:33:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17718116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarieLym/pseuds/LeighLa
Summary: Chris ruins Leon's day, and it gets worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i actually proofread this time, what a concept

The glass is halfway to his lips when his phone rings, and he finds all he can manage is a beleaguered sigh. He doesn’t have to look at the caller ID to suspect that it’s Rebecca. 

She’s made a habit of calling him during his peak ‘relaxation’ hours, devoting herself to personally badgering Leon into sobriety. A fool’s errand, if he’s ever heard one, but it’s sweet that she’s trying. He downs the whiskey left in his glass and almost feels guilty.

 

“Hello?” His voice breaks the empty silence of his apartment.

 

“Leon, we need you at HQ.” The voice is deep, familiar, and distinctly  _ not  _ Rebecca.

 

“Redfield, I know we had a great time in New York, but I’d really love to go to be doing anything else-”

 

“Cut the shit, this is serious.” Chris cuts him off, his voice audibly tired even through the distortion of the phone. At least he didn’t sound like he was actively holding off a B.O.W. “The world’s not ending,  _ yet _ , but we found a missing person you might be interested in.”

 

As much as Leon wishes that rang a bell, it really doesn’t. There were a lot of people he had gone on missions with and never saw again, bad guys that had gotten away. He considers himself lucky that he still knows where to find Claire and Sherry, and it’d feel selfish to ask for more than that in a world like this.

A traitorous voice whispers that  _ he’s lucky they can’t see him like this,  _ and he hates that he agrees with it.

 

“Who is it?” He asks, into empty air.

 

Chris takes his time responding, seeming to weigh his words very carefully, the dramatic bastard. “You’ll see. And I think you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

 

_ Yup, there it is _ . The anger Leon had worked so hard on suppressing, simmering just beneath the surface already. “Redfield, tell me who it is or I  _ swear-” _

 

_ Click. _

Leon’s grip on his phone tightens to the point he wonders if he should just throw it out the window and be done with it.

Chris has this effect on him, he’s learned. 

 

Their  _ mystery individual _ could be anyone. Sherawat, maybe? He wishes he had kept a more detailed list of… everything, really. Or kept lists at all.

He had photos, mostly because Sherry had looked blue in the face when she saw his undecorated walls and empty shelves, now littered with frames filled with those who remained and those less fortunate, souvenirs from trips abroad, boxes filled with postcards.

She’s a sweet kid, always trying to make sure he feels like he has a place to come home to. It still astounds him that the meek little girl Claire had dragged out of Raccoon had grown up into who she is today.

 

Some of the photos they collected are old and faded, some new and taken with one of her ridiculous selfie apps, some impersonal, fetched from the BSAA database.

Some hurt to look at, but he never finds the strength to take them down.

 

Marvin’s ‘Officer of the Month’ photo, a candid of himself on the day he graduated from the police academy, the one photo Ada had allowed him to snap of her-

 

A picture of a younger Leon, joined by two figures, the group sitting on the edge of of a stationary helicopter. A young girl with dark hair smiles brightly, despite her haggard appearance, a hand on each of the shoulders of the men who flank her. 

 

Clear blue eyes, not yet darkened by resentment,  _ madness _ -

 

Leon shuts down the thought before it can progress, and accepts that tonight’s rest will be fitful. 

 

And he’s right.

 

He wakes with a jolt, the room still dark and illuminated only by the red glare of his  alarm clock. 

Those damn _ eyes _ , watching, first with hesitant comradery and then with burning hatred, the sting of a knife slicing across his cheek. His limbs tremble with an adrenaline that he swears he can still feel when his plane touches down.

 

He wishes he had the luxury of a long car ride to calm the remaining tension from his body, but unfortunately, the organization has grown enough to warrant its own airstrip.

 

The BSAA’s headquarters are just as sleek and exhausting to look at as usual, and Leon feels his patience begin to wane earlier than he expected. Screens displaying the organization’s logo line the walls, and he only barely resists the urge to roll his eyes.

 

“Leon!”

 

He turns to the voice, surprise opening his expression when he sees Claire, in all her bright, grinning glory, jogging over to meet him. “Claire? What are you doing here?”

 

She pulls him into a crushing embrace as she answers, and he can still hear that smile in her voice. “I was in the area, thought I could spare some time to check up on you.” She pulls back, her grip shifting to his biceps as she gives him a considering stare. He doesn’t like that look.

 

“Have you been doing alright, Leon?” Her brows crease, and her lips press into a line. “I heard you on the phone with Chris the other day.”

 

_ Oh _ . He might have been a bit deeper in the bottle than he thought, if Claire could tell through the phone. If he were any less used to this, he’s sure he’d be blushing with shame. 

 

“I’m fine, Claire.” He responds, punctuating the statement with a flash of the earnest, wide eyes he knows she’s weak to, channeling the rookie cop she remembers so fondly. “Really.”

 

She looks like she  _ wants _ to believe him, and her grip loosens just enough for him to give her hair a ruffle. She huffs a laugh through her nose, a silent ‘I’m not dropping this yet’ left hanging in the air as she bats his hand away. 

 

Years have passed, but he still gets a kick out of playing the ‘I’m your big brother now’ card. 

 

She hasn’t changed at all since Raccoon, he thinks. They’ve both grown older, but it feels as if Leon is the only one who’s been sanded down so roughly by time. Claire only gets more beautiful, more kind and worldly with age. She’s dedicated her life to helping others and it shows on her face.

If Leon were any sappier he’d say she radiated goodness like a halo around her. He’s not drunk enough for that, though. 

 

The chatter comes easily to them, despite their long separation, Claire filling him in on Sherry’s activities, and the latest gossip floating through TerraSave headquarters. 

 

“Do you have any idea who Chris dragged me out here for?” He finally asks as they start their walk to the command room, falling into step easily. This is familiar. Easy. This is  _ good _ .

 

His hopes drop when Claire’s expression does. “I do.” 

 

“...And?” He hedges. “Claire, please, if it’s that bad I can’t walk in blind.”

 

She grimaces openly at that, and inhales sharply. “Chris wasn’t sure you would still come if you knew who it was.”

 

Leon had assumed it was something like that. He clenches his jaw, knowing there’s no way out now. “Well, fuck it. I’ve been in suspense this long, what’s another few minutes.”

 

Claire cracks a smile at that. “That’s the spirit.” It takes a turn for the hesitant when she continues, gesturing at the room labeled ‘interrogation’. What a welcoming word. 

 

“Ready?”

 

“As I’ll ever be, let’s see what we’re dealing with.” He responds blandly, looping an arm through hers. “I’m holding you hostage while we’re in there. No funny business.”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” Her smirk is a welcome reminder that her playful streak is still in tact, and he holds on to that familiarity as they enter the viewing room.

 

It’s just as dark and sinister as Leon expected it to be, a control panel of microphones and buttons he couldn’t begin to guess the purpose of, two agents watching the window in front of them intently.

Following their gazes, he the older Redfield leaning over the table between him and their  guest, shoulders tense with what Leon can only guess is irritation, if his iron grip on the edge of the surface is any clue. If whoever-it-is is giving Chris this a hard of a time, they must be fun. 

 

Leon hears a voice, low and muffled through the thick one-way glass, and the words have an immediate effect on Chris, whose spine straightens, the only warning of things to come is the tightening of Claire’s arm around his.

 

“ _ Fine _ .” Chris barks, loud enough to startle the techs sitting at the console. “Keep up the ‘tough guy’ act, see if that gets you out of here any faster.” When Chris moves to pace around their captive, Leon’s heart stops.

 

“Jack?”

 

Somehow, he looks exactly the same as he did back then. Usually slicked blonde hair now unkempt and hanging in front of his eyes in strands, his imposing figure sitting ramrod straight as Chris circles him. 

After taking in the impossible, the first thing Leon notices is his arm, or the space where it should have been. 

What had once been a wicked blade extending from Krauser’s forearm was now completely removed mid-bicep, the scarring of whatever ‘operation’ had taken it still red and raw.

The next is his eyes, clear, if tired, under his strong brow. Tracking Chris’ movements with the silent irritation he was well-familiar with, himself. Void of the fog of insanity he had died with.

 

He died. He did. 

 

_ How? _

 

Claire’s voice filters into Leon’s awareness, and he tears his eyes from the ghost in front of him. She holds a key-card out to him caution and silent worry radiating from her whole form. “Now or never, Leon.”

 

He has the card in hand and is stepping through the heavy door before he can convince himself it’s a bad idea. 

 

Chris and the dead man’s heads turn to stare at him as soon as the lock of the door clicks open, and when Leon stares into those blue eyes, for a moment, he sees nothing.

 

Suspicion, cold and appraising, and then-

 

Realization.

 

“Leon?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krauser is not enjoying his front-row seat to the Chris Power Hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing is hard but God i love resident evil....

When they had extracted him from his cell Jack had expected to be met with a firing squad at best, or a torture chamber at worst. Not the bland, gray stone of an interrogation room, and the impassive two-way glass reflecting his haggard, scarred face back at him.

 

_ Where did these fucking scars even come from? _

 

He’d looked worse before, but not by much. His arm- or the spot where it had been- twinges with a strange pain that’s hard to ignore, and he pushes the anxiety of its loss into the back of his mind.

 

There’ll be time to worry about that later, no matter how damning the consequences.

The only thing in this room able to even partially distract from  _ everything  _ is the bulky man staring at him from under a furrowed brow. His uniform is frustratingly, but understandably devoid of any identification, the only thing giving away any information being the logo on his shoulder.

_ What the hell is the ‘BSAA’ supposed to be?  _ Jack’s memory holds no reference to the acronym, and his frustration grows. He’d been around the block, dealt with organizations from all over the world, but never had he heard that name.

Terrorist upstarts? A new, secretly formed task force? Based on the ‘North America Branch’ designation on the badge, it’s worldwide. That’d be real hard to hide. 

 

“Alright Jack, the faster you tell me what you know, the faster you’re back in your nice, cushy cell.” The soldier, he can’t be anything else with that gait and build, takes a seat across from him, taking up as much space as he reasonably can. 

Blatant intimidation? He needs to try harder. “Who’s been keeping you alive, where is their base of operations, and what is their goal.  _ Now _ .”

 

“Be more specific.” Something about the man’s face makes it impossible for Jack to keep the taunt out of his voice, and the resulting tick in his brow is satisfying. But not satisfying enough to keep the surprise out of his face.

_ What’s ‘keeping me alive’ supposed to mean? _

 

“Umbrella is gone, Neo-Umbrella failed, Glenn Arias and every other upstart we’ve dealt with is dead,  _ who don’t we know about?”  _ The soldier’s voice rises with every name, each more unfamiliar than the last. Why would they think he has anything to do with Umbrella?

 

_ Seems like there’s no winning this one. _ “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jack responds, jaw clenched. “I can’t give you information I don’t have.”

 

The soldier’s expression darkens, and he stands, leaning forward over the table. “You’re telling me that a dog of Wesker’s doesn’t know  _ anything?” _

 

“I know how to conduct a proper interrogation, at least.” This guy wears his heart on his sleeve. They have  _ him _ on interrogations?  _ Must not get anything done, around here.   _ “...Albert Wesker?” He hedges, eyes narrowing. 

 

“What, are you telling me that he wasn’t the last one? Pray tell, Krauser, what  _ Wesker _ have we missed?” 

 

_ So the mastermind’s dead, then,  _ Jack absorbs. He has a loose understanding of Albert Wesker’s involvement in various outbreaks, the Arklay Mountains murders, the Raccoon City incident he had heard about from Leon himself.  _ Good riddance. _

 

As amusing as watching this guy fumble through this interrogation is, best not to dig a deeper hole when he doesn’t  have all the facts.  _ Or any, for that matter.  _ If he's lucky, maybe the guy'll keep letting things slip. 

 

The man’s posture tenses further at his silence, and Jack is definitely smart enough to recognize the calm before the storm. “Listen, Krauser. Either you cooperate, or you get _ real  _ used to the inside of this room.” Oh, wow, scary. The thought must have shown on his face, as the soldier continues. "Oh, not good enough? Maybe we'll think of something to do with your other arm."

 

Probably a bluff, but a nice try. "At least I'll be symmetrical."

 

The soldier’s grip on the table loosens as he moves to pace around the table-  _ he’s changing his strategy, a good attempt-  _ but he pauses in his stride when the locks of the heavy metal door begin to click.

 

When it opens, the face that greets him gives Jack pause.

 

Light eyes, dark, sandy blonde hair, and a lithe build- but it’s not the same. His hair is too long, eyes too tired, a weary cast to his face that the kid would never allow. A relative, maybe, he attempts to reason, an uncle-

 

But no. The slant of his brow, though creased in unfamiliar ways, is the same, his lips, pressed thin with worry- anger?- exactly the same. Too impossibly similar to be coincidence.

 

_ What happened? _

 

“Leon?”

 

‘Leon’s’ stony expression crumbles as he speaks, and that’s all Jack has to see to know it’s true. 

The soldier gives Leon a stern look, but allows him to pass, moving to stand by the now-closed door like a sentry.

 

Leon’s eyes don’t stray from Jack’s as he takes the soldier’s abandoned seat, a strange mixture of caution, anger and disbelief plain written on his face.

 

He makes no move to speak, his eyes flitting over Jack’s face like he’s trying to memorize it, or he’s searching for something and  _ can’t find it. _

 

“You alright, boyscout?” Jack breaks the silence, tempering his voice as if Leon was the one handcuffed to a table in god-knows-where. “You look like you’ve aged ten years in a day.”

 

That shakes Leon from whatever horrified trance he’s in, and his expression drains of its anger and fills the space with a strange, shell-shocked kind of acceptance. 

 

“Seventeen years, actually.” His voice is rough in a way that implies bad habits that Jack  _ knows _ he didn’t entertain before, and his words glaze over Jack’s thoughts like water over glass. 

 

_ That’s not possible. _ Based on the dawning bafflement on the soldier’s face, they’re all on the same page. If it wasn’t for his  _ very much real  _ severed arm that he’s working so hard to ignore, Jack would be sure this is all an elaborate prank.

 

The walls would fall away, the guys from the base, Manuela, everyone would laugh and celebrate pulling one over on him. Leon would grin in that boyish way of his and they’d all go out for drinks on Jack

 

But they don’t.

 

This isn’t a TV set, Leon isn’t smiling, Jack’s arm is  _ gone _ , and he’s missing seventeen years of memories, if this is to be believed. 

And why wouldn’t it be? What reason could Leon have to lie to him?

 

“Hell, with how spry you look, I might be older than you now. You were, what, late thirties for Javier, early to mid forties for Spain?” Leon continues, his gaze growing more piercing with each word, bitterness seeping into his tone.

 

_ Spain? When the hell was I in  _ Spain _ with Kennedy? _

 

“...I’m forty one.” Jack responds. “Currently.”

 

That seems to be the final blow for Leon’s ability or desire to comprehend the situation. “Wow, I’ve got a whole year on you. Who’s the boyscout now?” Leon laughs thinly, his expression incredulous. He leans forward, an elbow on the table supporting his head. He looks absolutely exhausted.

 

Jack is starting to understand the feeling.

 

This isn’t a situation that’s going to be solved by ignoring the problem, or dragging things out for ego’s sake, he realizes. They need to collaborate. 

 

“...Whatever happened in Spain, I have no memory of it.” Jack admits, and he clenches his jaw when a deep crease forms between Leon’s brows. “Or of being a ‘dog of Wesker’. I serve my country, and that’s where my allegiances end.”

 

Leon doesn't look convinced, but there's something open in his expression nonetheless. Like he  _wants_ to believe. 

 

The soldier, on the other hand,  looks like he wants to object, but holds his tongue when Leon gives him a frigid glance over his own shoulder. They're locked in a staring contest for a moment, before the soldier's shoulders drop and Leon turns back to Krauser.

 

“Alright. _Well,_  it sounds like we need to play catch-up.” Leon sucks in a harsh breath, pushing his hair back from his face. “Chris, pull up a chair, we have some work to do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written between classes as usual, my brain is broken o(<

**Author's Note:**

> so uhhhh i needed a think break from It Might have Been so i ended up just writing more self-indulgent 'what if' fun.   
> this time with 80% more chris


End file.
